


He's Like My Disco

by poisontaster



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-16
Updated: 2008-09-16
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's not gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Like My Disco

**Author's Note:**

> Written for moosesal's 2008 non-J2 Ficathon. Prompt: He's something like my 7-eleven/ He got me open like an all night store - Macy Gray, "Caligula".

"Jeff." The air conditioning is broken and all the windows and the doors are open to catch what little breeze there is. Sweat glistens at Jensen's hairline and in the shadowed hollows of his neck. As Jeff watches, a little bead breaks loose to glide down the column of his throat. Jeff wants to lick it. Wants to lick Jensen all over.

It's possible he's had a little too much beer.

It's possible he's had a little too much Jensen.

"Jeff," Jensen says again. His voice is thick and slow, syrupy with the accent he used to take so much care to hide. "I'm not gay."

Jeff blinks slowly, thinking he can't possibly have heard Jensen correctly. Then he looks down at where Jensen is pressing him into the wall. "Then stop kissing me."

Color floods up under pale, freckled skin—a little less pale and a little more freckled than usual after a day and a half in the sun and surf. Jensen's eyes drop down behind lowered lids and curled eyelashes. "No." He sounds stifled. "I mean... I've never... I don't..." He looks up again, huge cool eyes that Jeff wants to fall into like the ocean. He's so busy staring at Jensen's eyes, in fact, that he doesn't take Jensen's meaning until Jensen's fingers brush across his jeans-trapped cock.

It's as unsure and tentative as the first time Eleanor Edmundson did the same thing when he was fourteen. The almost-virginal quality of it makes Jeff curse thickly, blood heating to something molten and unstable. Jeff grabs Jensen by the belt and shirt and whirls, turning Jensen to the wall instead. Jensen's eyes widen but he doesn't fight back, lets Jeff push him how he wants him.

"We're not kids, Jensen." Jeff presses into Jensen, letting him feel Jeff's cock grinding against his own. "Don't play games. How far you planning to take this?"

"I don't know." Jensen's hands writhe at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them. To listen to him, Jeff guesses Jensen doesn't, at that. "I didn't plan this. I didn't think about it past 'I want to'."

"Well, I have," Jeff says, in the same ragged, rough tone. "I've thought about it _a lot_ , Jen."

Jensen swallows, and like that strange-intense fourteen year old love that fixates on every insignificant detail, Jeff watches his Adam's apple bob unsteadily under smooth, biteable skin.

He _really_ wants to bite that skin. Mark it up, messy red imprints of possession. It's Jeff's turn to swallow through the flooding wetness of his mouth, fighting to think above the siren song of his libido.

"I'm not saying I need you to be my boyfriend, or lover or whatever the fuck they're calling it these days, but don't fuck around, Jensen. Don't come into my bed and then hate me for it tomorrow."

"I don't." Jensen looks annoyed Jeff would even suggest it. "I won't."

Jeff takes a step back, sharp and deliberate. Caught off-guard, Jensen almost pitches forward, used to Jeff's presence and weight against his. Jeff spreads his hands. "So what do you wanna do, Chief?"

Jensen's tongue steals out, pink and pointed, to swipe across the fullness of his mouth like a deep but unconscious thirst. "I don't..." Jeff raises an eyebrow and Jensen bristles again, backbone showing through lust-glaze. "My mouth," Jensen says, sounding more definitive. "I want you... Can I suck you?"

Jeff closes his eyes, a thrill-shiver running through him like an archipeggio chord. How long's he been waiting/wanting for those words to come from Jensen's mouth? How many restless, itchy dreams, like a teenager just figuring out what his dick's for? "Yeah, Jensen. I think we can do that."

Jeff's bedroom is dark, but not really _dark_. Jeff shucks out of his clothes and straightens to finds Jensen staring at him, looking like a startled deer. Jeff's aches all the way to his bones with the want of Jensen, but he sighs and sits down slowly on the edge of his bed. "Jensen. We don't have to do this."

Jensen still looks dazed when his eyes come up to Jeff's, but it transmutes quickly into fierce annoyance, creasing a line between his eyebrows, turning his mouth stubborn. "I just." Jensen comes deeper into the room, bare feet slurring across the carpet. When he drops to his knees, Jeff's whole skin suddenly feels too tight and he couldn't move or speak to save his life. Jensen Ackles on his knees, Jesus fucking Christ. "I'm not scared," Jensen insists, settling his hands on Jeff's naked knees. In semi-darkness, he looks young. So damn young.

Half the time, Jeff tells himself that a twelve year age difference isn't that much, especially at their age. The other half, he uses the difference as a defense, telling himself he's got no business lusting after a kid so young.

And he does lust.

"I just want to touch you. All over, I want to touch you."

"So what's stopping you?"

Jensen's face pinches tight but his fingers close around Jeff's ankles, inching slowly and ticklishly up Jeff's legs. Jensen's palms curve around Jeff's knee, thumbs drifting up and across the inner bones. He's not even touching anything good yet and Jeff feels overloaded, oversaturated, filled with something hotter and more volatile than just blood.

And then Jensen touches him with that mouth.

Again, it's innocent, innocuous—if one man putting his lips on another man's leg can be said to be completely innocent. There's nothing _sexual_ about it, except in the way that every fucking thing Jensen does is sexual.

Jensen moves one hand to Jeff's belly, making him suck it in reflexively in middle-aged self-consciousness. But Jensen only pushes, urging Jeff back. Jeff props himself on his elbows, not wanting to miss anything, not a single moment.

Soft scrape of even white teeth, crisping against wiry leg hair; Jeff jumps. When Jensen's mouth nuzzles against the ache of his cock, Jeff can't help reaching for him, fingers skidding through short, product-slippery hair to curl around the solid fragility of Jensen's skull. _"Jensen."_ The word is involuntary, an almost unintelligible grunt jerked out of him by pure reaction.

 

"What?" Jensen lifts his head, big eyes even bigger. The swollen, slick messiness of his mouth, pink as if glossed, stabs deep into Jeff's libido, pure porn.

Jeff huffs a laugh, scruffing Jensen's hair and down onto his cheek where emerging stubble prickles his palm. Jensen takes everything so seriously. "It's good," he says, unable to bring his voice up from the same throat-scraping growl. His hips flex up like Jensen is gravity and he's just an orbiting body. "Crissakes, don't stop."

Jensen laughs, one brief eye-crinkle before he bends again, wet, sloppy lips with more hunger than skill. And that—that Jensen is _hungry_ and hungry for _him_ —it goes to Jeff's head like nitrous, bending it back on his neck, bending his whole body back as he melts slowly, anchored only by that one hand curling around Jensen's bobbing head.

"Jesus Christ, Jensen, Jesus Christ…"

And Jeff's had better blow jobs, probably. More expert ones, for sure. But he can't remember ever feeling so aware of it: someone's lips rubbing, someone's tongue licking, hard sucks from the back of the throat and the brief catch of teeth that teeters on the edge between delicious and terrifying. He's so conscious that it's _Jensen's_ mouth dragging every embarrassing whimper and desperate, pleading grunt out of him.

And then Jensen pulls off.

Jeff's head jerks up like a ballista. "I'm going to kill you." He surprises himself with how absolutely serious that comes out, gravelly and dangerous.

"I want…" Jensen leans his forehead against Jeff's thigh and Jeff can't tell whether it's Jensen's just out of breath or whether he can't look Jeff in the eye. "Would you fuck my mouth?" It comes out half-drunken, almost, _mouth_ becoming _mouf_ , the _my_ only hinted at. "I've been thinking about it." Jensen's forehead scrubs across Jeff's leg as Jensen shakes his head, as though he's trying to deny the words tripping off his lips.

"Aw, Jesus, Jen." Jeff shivers, cool, sweet ripple from the tip of his spine to the tips of his toes, a lingering tingle. He closes his fingers tight in Jensen's short hair, tugging, dragging Jensen's head up. Jensen's eyes are half-lidded but not so much that Jeff can't see how stoned he looks, still panting hard, mouth half open. Jeff shudders again and then takes hold of his cock, offering it up as he coaxes Jensen's head down, still leaving him plenty of play for Jensen to change his mind. "C'mon sweetheart. Take that cock."

Jensen flutters in a shiver and then he's swallowing Jeff down again, moaning thickly in the back of his throat. Against his calf, Jeff feels Jensen's arm jerk in frantic violin bow motions, stroking himself as Jeff rubs himself against those plush-firm lips, easing himself deeper.

Jeff reminds himself—forcibly and emphatically—that this is Jensen's first time, muscles hard and trembling with the effort not to thrust all the way into the tightness of Jensen's throat. Clumsily, Jeff caresses Jensen's cheek, fingers tucked under the ridge of skull. "God, Jen… _your mouth…_ "

Jensen sounds, a doglike noise, eager and whining, and the light friction of his arm against Jeff's leg picks up pace. Jeff takes that—and the renewed sucking pressure of Jensen's lips—as permission to fuck Jensen's mouth a little harder, nudge a little deeper, constant, wet friction that thrills along his dick, up his spine.

He's close, desire sunk down into his bones. He wants to come in Jensen's mouth, feel Jensen drink him, thumb the messy remnants from his bottom lip and then lick him clean. But that seems a lot to ask for a first time around, so he strokes the close-grained skin behind Jensen's ear, pushing a little with his palm on Jensen's hollowed cheek. "Jen.. Jensen—"

Jensen ignores him. More than ignores him, pressing himself down on Jeff's cock until Jeff can feel Jensen's throat closing up around him, loud, greedy sucks only barely drowned out by Jensen's accompanying moans.

"Fuck, _Jensen_ —" It's the last warning Jeff can give and it's all but useless as the first pulse wrings out of him, too intense to even feel good. Jeff lets go of Jensen entirely, fisting his hand in the bedspread until his knuckles crackle.

Jensen sucks Jeff dry and soft before he lets Jeff's cock slip from his mouth. Jeff can barely hear above the tidal pound of his blood in his ears but he manages to scratch out, "Jensen. C'mere. Come up here."

Jensen's face is pressed against the inside of Jeff's thigh, his mouth panting hot and damp against Jeff's skin. Jeff feels every jerking rock of Jensen's body into his pistoning fist, the buzz of Jensen's gasping moans.

Jeff gives up trying to move and just lets his fingers rest on Jensen's head, weak strokes that nonetheless make Jensen shudder like he's sick.

The first hot scald of Jensen's come splashing against Jeff's ankle makes Jeff's dick twitch, makes him wish he was double or triple-jointed so he could twist up and watch Jensen come. "S'good," Jeff murmurs, drowsiness pressing on him like a weight. "So freaking good, Jen."

When Jensen's stopped spasming, Jeff taps his skull again. "C'mere."

Jeff scoots back and Jensen just crawls straight up Jeff's body, moving slow and languid. He settles over Jeff, their legs tangled together and Jeff strums down Jensen's back for the pure pleasure of feeling that delicate little shiver. Jensen's face tucks into Jeff's neck between his jaw and shoulder, mouth still moving in soft, little sucks against the skin.

"You do that pretty good for a not-gay guy," Jeff opines.

Jensen snorts in surprise and then laughs. "I dunno, I'm kind of a perfectionist. I think my technique needs some work." His hand slips down, fingers curling gently around Jeff's cock, thumb circling the ridge. "Lucky I got you to practice on, huh?"

Jeff nuzzles his cheek against the bristle of Jensen's hair. "Yeah. Lucky."


End file.
